


Tomb in the Stars

by gaymoonlover



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Richie Tozier, Divorce, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Oblivious Eddie Kaspbrak, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Richie is a gay mess, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26134294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymoonlover/pseuds/gaymoonlover
Summary: Richie Tozier hated hospitals. Even as a hyperactive and fairly stupid kid, he had never done anything dangerous enough to land him inside a hospital. And as a broke 20 something who was working at a diner and doing open mic nights in LA, the idea of voluntarily getting saddled with medical debt was unimaginable. As he became more well known, his bank account grew larger and larger. And he could afford some of the best healthcare around. Hell, he needed new glasses every couple of months. But even then, he never managed to maim himself badly enough that he needed to go to an emergency room. And his opinion on them had remained fairly neutral.(Or Eddie lives, they road trip to Texas to live in Ben's guest house, and gay love ensues!)
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1. Under the Milky Way

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! So this is my first fanfiction in a while and I'm really excited to share it all with you. Now fair warning, this will deal with a lot of darker subjects such as suicide, PTSD, closeted feelings, and eventually gay sex. So please be mindful while reading that. Otherwise, have a good time. :-)

Chapter 1. 

_Under The Milky Way- The Church_

Richie Tozier hated hospitals. Even as a hyperactive and fairly stupid kid, he had never done anything dangerous enough to land him inside a hospital. And as a broke 20 something who was working at a diner and doing open mic nights in LA, the idea of voluntarily getting saddled with medical debt was unimaginable. As he became more well known, his bank account grew larger and larger. And he could afford some of the best healthcare around. Hell, he needed new glasses every couple of months. But even then, he never managed to maim himself badly enough that he needed to go to an emergency room. And his opinion on them had remained fairly neutral.

But now, as he sits in an ugly and uncomfortable chair at Derry General he realizes that he hates hospitals. The cold, sterile air that carries the scent of medication and industrial disinfectant. The stark white walls that seem too bright under the fluorescent lights that never stop buzzing. He counts the specks in the worn tile and the ticks of the clock that hangs above the door that says ‘PATIENTS ONLY.’, And behind that door is Eddie. He hopes. 

The group had barely made it out of the sewers alive, and it had taken everything for the others to get Richie out. Because he had refused to leave Eddie down there. Refuse to let him die in that rat-infested hell hole where that murderous clown had lived. It had taken Ben and Bill to help carry Eddie and Mike and Bev to help Richie. But they had made it out, and Richie had probably broken half the traffic laws in Maine getting them to the hospital in time. But they had made it, and Richie had burst through the doors screaming for a fucking doctor.

They had taken Eddie into emergency surgery but that had been hours ago. Richie had planted himself in the seat nearest the doors and hadn’t moved since. He was stiff, his muscles strained and tense with the effort of staying still. He waited for some news, any news, and as time passed the mounting stress had weighed on him, growing heavier and harder to handle. A hand was suddenly on his shoulder, and he started, looking up. In front of him was a tired Ben with a cup of steaming coffee.

“Here, Richie, you look like you could use this.” Ben’s voice was scratchy and rough, but his eyes still had that warm kindness that seemed a part of him. Those eyes were surrounded by wrinkles and his face was aged with time, but Richie could still see in him the chubby kid who had almost bled out on him. 

_ “I’m glad I got to meet you before you died.” _

“Thanks, ole’ chap!” Richie says in his British Guy voice. But even he could hear the strain and the cracks. He takes the cup from Ben’s hand and downs half of it with one gulp, not even registering the taste. As he looks back up, he notices Ben was in different clothes. A worn flannel and old jeans, clunky boots on his feet. “Did you leave?” He asks in a voice laced with confusion. 

Ben gives him a worried look, sitting down beside him. “Rich we all have. I went with Bev, and then Mike took Bill. And honestly, man, you should too.” 

Richie looks down at himself as if he was just now registering his state for the first time. He was still in his clothes from the battle, his jeans and shirt ruined by the sewage they had sloshed through, along with his dried blood mixed with Eddies. It had stained him with an ugly rust color. He shivered, thinking of how much more of that was Eddies’ blood. He nods his head and then slowly stands up on shaky legs. “Yeah, okay, changing. That sounds like-like a good idea. I’m still the best-looking one here though, even covered in shit water. ” He shivers then and realizes that he doesn’t have his jacket. The thing was probably ruined by now anyway, laying in a biohazard bag somewhere. 

Ben holds his shoulder gently and for the first time Richie takes in the waiting room. Beverly was at the nurse’s station, filling out the stack of paperwork they had all neglected at first. And Bill was at the end of the hall, talking into his phone with a quiet and rushed voice. 

Beverly glances up then and puts down the pen, walking towards them. Ben smiles at her, and for a second Richie felt his stomach twist with a hint of jealousy. The look Ben gives her and the look she gives back says it all. That the 27-year-old torch he had been carrying all this time had led him to Bev. And that she returns his feelings, loves him back. There was a comfort and a steadiness there that fills Richie with so much envy that he is surprised his face isn’t green. He doesn’t want to think about why that is though. 

Beverly brushed Ben’s hand with her fingers and then moved to take Riches in both of her own. “Hey Rich, how are you holding up?” She asked in a soft voice that reminds him of the way his mom would speak to him after he’d have a particularly bad nightmare. He gave her a weak smile and shrugged. 

“Well, it wasn’t my worst weekend, that’s for sure. Y’all have never been to a vegas seafood buffet, though. When I tell you I tore up that hotel toilet-” 

“Beep beep Richie,” rolling her eyes, she threw an arm around his shoulders, leading him to the exit. She looked behind her shoulder at Ben and nodded to the papers. “Finish that up, will you?”

They made their way to --fill in-- the ride is mostly silent, with only the radio playing softly in the background.

Richie and Beverly had always been close. They had both bonded over comics and stolen cigarettes passed between them while listening to mixtapes on Richie’s boombox. When the emptiness of Richie’s house threatened to crush him, Beverly had always been up to waste a few hours watching a bad movie or quiet conversations in the clubhouse. Because both of them had demons at home and neither one wanted to have to face them. And who cared if Beverly had never affected him the way she did Ben and Bill? She was one of his best friends, and not even 27 years of extensive memory loss could change that. 

When they got there, Beverly followed him to his room and started rummaging through his bag for a bit. She turned after a moment, handing him a pile of his clothes. “Here, go wash up. You look like shit.”

Richie smiled then, and looked at this woman who is so secure and lovely; he could still see the fiery girl that was the first in their group to make that impossible jump off the cliff in just her underwear almost three decades ago. 

_ “Who invited Molly Ringwald to the group?” _

“Wow Bev, you’re as charming as ever. No wonder Hanson has that hard-on for you.” Beverly turned a bright shade of pink and Richie chuckled under his breath. He took the clothes from her frozen hands and went into the dingy bathroom to get cleaned up.

Hot rivets of water wash down his body, and he watches the water until the red runs clear and he feels his stomach turn. Before he can stop himself, he begins vomiting, pressing his hand against the slick tiles. His stomach twisted and he closed his eyes, the acid burning his throat. Afterward, he quickly finished and shoved himself into the clothes handed to him. Laying on the counter was his extra pair of glasses. He dropped the broken pair into the trash, along with the rest of his clothes. Looking in the mirror, he can see that Beverly wasn’t far off. Richie looked awful, deep circles etched under his eyes like he’d been punched in the nose. He needed a shave about three days ago and about a week of sleep to finish it off. But looking into the mirror, he also was able to see a heartbreak in his eyes that forced him to look away. 

Beverly sat on his open window sill, cigarette in hand. Blue tinted smoke curled from her lips and she blew out a lungful. The sky was just starting to change with the light of a rising sun, casting her in a golden glow. It caught the brilliant red of her hair, giving her the appearance of a flickering flame. Looking over, she smiled at him and patted the space across from her. Richie sat and without being asked Bev handed him a cigarette. She flicks to light a silver lighter and Richie leans forward, inhaling the smoke deeply. They sit there in the comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sunrise across their hometown. The quiet is comfortable and yet he knows there is something she is dying to ask.

When she was done, Beverly snubbed the cigarette out on the sill and dropped it out the window. Then she turned to Richie with those bright blue eyes tracked on him. “So,” she said, in a tone that had Richie’s muscles locking up. “Are we gonna talk about what happened down there or…?” She let the question trail off, waiting for an answer. The silence grows again, but she lets it build this time. 

Richie sighed and finished his cigarette, throwing it out the window as well and watching as it hit the street below. “I know it was crazy down there. I thought we wouldn’t make it out alive. Bunch of dumbass we were you know? I thought-”

Beverly suddenly grabbed Richie’s hand, and the look in her eyes is… it was so sad and sobering that the words in his throat dry up. She looks for the first time like the older woman she is, aged by time and stress and something else that Richie is now also plagued by. “Richie, I wanna ask-“ a shuddering breath stopped her and she took a moment to center herself. “I  _ need  _ to know what you saw in the deadlights.” 

And there it was, what Richie had been pushing out of his mind since the madness had ended and he had watched a swarm of doctors and nurses descend on Eddie. The haunting experience that had almost cost him his life. He shivered and shut his eyes, letting the memory of it crash into him like a wave. 

_ There was nothing but darkness around him. But not the same as usual darkness in which you are left on your own in the nothing. No, this darkness was full. It was so heavy Richie thought it might crush him. It was choking and awful, and he wishes he could die in that endless moment, die just to escape it. And for a second, Richie was hopeful that’s all this was— the final suffering before he could escape into the void that the dying are greeted with.  _

_ But then the visions came. Stan, laying dead in his bathroom as the life left him, staining the water red with his still-warm blood. Bill, putting a gun into his mouth as tears rolled down his cheeks and a cloud of red mist staining the wall. Mike, walking into the Neibolt house on his own and being buried under the debris as it collapsed onto him. Ben, running into a burning building as someone screamed, the smell of his scorched flesh filling the smoky air. Beverly, screaming at a man who had his hands around her throat and then her lifeless eyes looking up when her neck snapped with a sickening crunch.  _

_ And Eddie, laying on a bathroom floor with an empty bottle of pills. Eddie, crashing into a car and flying through the front window. Eddie, jumping off a bridge and landing into the icy water. Eddie, Eddie, EDDIE! Always dead. Always gone. Dying in a hundred different ways, all of them flashing by while Richie was forced to watch. The repeated loss causes a chasm of pain to rip open inside him, and the emptiness is astounding.  _

Richie was pulled out of his reverie, slamming to the floor as Beverly crashed into him with her arms tightly wrapped around his neck. They landed on the stained carpet in a heap of limbs and Richie came back to himself. There was a strange, keening noise like something was dying. Richie realized it was him, sobbing inhuman sobs. He touched his cheek and felt the wetness on the tips of his fingers. And as Bev slowly rubbed his back and shushed him, Richie broke. The sobs racked his body as he let the sadness, the horror, and the stress of the last few days flow from his body. Before he knew it Beverly was sobbing with him, and he crushed her into his chest while they fell apart together. After a long time, the tears ran dry and they pulled apart slowly. They sat across from one another on the ground while catching their breath. They weren’t healed, but a weight had been lifted for both of them.

“Finally made you wet huh Bev?” She laughs at that, softly hitting him in the shoulder. But as they sit there, Richie comes to a jarring realization. I've eight pages not yet 5000“Is that what you saw Bev? All of us-” Richie looked up, unable to finish the sentence. Beverly met his eyes with her own, the redness making her blue so brilliant that it almost hurt to look into them. She nodded slowly, leaning back against the wall with a sigh. 

“Every night Rich. Even when I couldn’t remember your names or who you were, I saw you die almost every night. I couldn’t tell Tom, of course, he would have beat me halfway to hell if I mentioned dreaming about other men. Never mind that they were dying.” Her voice takes on a bit of venom to it, and Richie takes her in for a moment. Her pale arms, exposed by her sleeveless tank top, are covered in a litany of scrapes and bruises. His throat closes up as he realizes that some of the marks were there when she arrived. 

“If he ever touches you again Bev, I swear to god I will put his ass in a hospital bed. I don’t even care if they throw me in jail. Hell, it might even be good press. ‘Washed up comedian lands in jail after kicking the ass of the world’s biggest fuckwad!’ Might even give me a new story to tell on stage, if I have wrecked my career by now.” Beverly laughed as he slipped into the familiar newscaster voice that Richie hadn’t done since he was a kid. The lightness of that laugh makes the actual anger behind his statement fade a bit. 

“Thanks, Richie, but I don’t need you to get your ass in a jail cell for me.” She gave him a kind smile, but then her eyes hardened a bit and she looked up. “Actually I uh. Well, I called my lawyer a few hours ago and started to divorce process. It’s gonna be a bitch with the business and all, and it will probably be a year or even longer before anything goes through. But I decided that enough was enough.”

Richie's smile is so large it feels like his face might split in half. He took Beverly into his arms, squeezing her tight to his chest. “That’s amazing, just… God Beverly, I am so proud and happy for you. Let me know if you need anything okay? I will have a team of the most hardened LA attorneys sicced on the guy and the second you tell me.” 

Beverly shakes her head then, rolling her eyes. “Well thank you, Rich. But to be honest, I don’t care what he says. I talked through it with Ben and we think it shouldn’t be hard as long as I stay far away from Chicago.” Her cheeks begin to flush red. Richie smiled then and pulled away so that he could waggle his eyebrows at her. 

“You and ole Benny boy then? I can’t say I am surprised, Bev. The guy has been carrying a torch for you this whole time. I am gonna have to buy him a beer though. I am sure he’s over the moon right now. But how are you feeling? Are you happy?”

Beverly nods before he even finishes the sentence. The smile that breaks across her face is unlike anything Richie has ever seen. It transforms her, and she seems to be glowing with happiness. “I am actually. I have always had a thing for him you know? And that makes sense because all those years I was dreaming of the deadlights I was seeing Ben the most. It wasn’t set like everyone else either. I saw every bad turn he would have taken. But I guess that’s love for you, ya know?”

Richie had stopped listening though, thinking back to his visions. How he had watched Eddie die 100 times in 100 awful ways. The way his chest had opened up when he came back to himself and saw Eddies face above him. And the way it had caved in all over again when he had watched Eddie sliced open. The way he seemed to be the center of Richie’s world, even now as he sat in a hospital, being stitched back together. But Richie refused to open that box now when he didn’t even know if Eddie was even gonna-

“Richie, hey are you okay?” He hadn’t noticed, but at some point, he had stood up. Looking down, he saw his hands were trembling. He could feel his heart racing and his thoughts blurring by even faster. But he couldn’t say anything. So instead he plastered on his best stage smile and held out a hand to help Beverley up. 

“Come, Bev, let’s get back.” 

  
  
  


At the hospital, Richie and Beverly walk in to discover the rest of their group talking to a tired doctor in scrubs. Richie feels his heart stop and the possibility runs through his mind. Before he can stop himself he’s pushing through the others, interrupting whatever conversation they were having. “What happened, is he…?” Richie can’t force the words to pass his lips, can’t put the fear that grips him out into the open. 

But the doctor gives him a kind if somewhat hesitant smile. “No, no. I was just explaining to your friends here that you’re friend is alright. Or well, he will be. We’ve got him stabilized but he is currently in a coma. He’s sustained a lot of damage to major organs and we want his body to focus on healing.” He turns towards Bill, clapping him on the back. “Your friend is very lucky you were able to get him here in time. He could’ve been in a much worse situation.” 

Bill smiles and nods, the picture of sincerity. “Of course. We thought there had been someone trapped in that old house, the one on Neibolt? But I guess it couldn’t handle all of us there, it almost collapsed right on us. But next time, we’ll be sure to leave it up to the cops.”

And with a few well-spoken words, Bill had come with an alibi for them. Richie wondered if he had thought of it or if it had been on the spot. With Bill, it was always hard to tell. Richie had known him since the two were in diapers but with Bill, he had never been able to figure out his stories from reality. Spinning tales with a silver and stuttering tongue. Richie remembered laying in Bill's room and flipping through pages of shorts stories, finding himself immersed in the worlds that Bill had created with words on paper. Looking at this strong man, Richie saw the friend of his youth. A skinny and string bean boy that had something about him that made Richie follow him to the end of the earth. 

_ “ _ _ You punched me, made me walk through shitty water, dragged me through a crackhouse... and now I'm gonna have to kill this fucking clown.” _

The doctor nodded and shook Bill’s hand, leveling all of them with a stern look. “I’m happy to hear that. Now, due to your friend's state, I only want two of you in there at a time. Is that understood?” Richie nodded and as soon as the doctor went through the doors he followed. All that he could think of was seeing Eddie as if he needed it to breathe. So when the doctor led them to the door, Richie opened it without thinking. 

The sight of what was waiting inside stopped his heart. He felt it, freezing inside his chest. There was Eddie, or what used to be Eddie. He was covered head to toe in bandages, hooked up to a scary amount of machines and monitors. He walks slowly to the bed as if he is being pulled by a magnet. He collapses in the chair next to the bed, his eyes never moving from Eddie's broken form. It struck Richie then, how small and weak his friend seemed. Stripped of his bravado, his fiery attitude, he was still that small young boy that had screamed about greywater and carried his medication in fanny packs. 

_ “Hey Eddie, are those your birth control pills?” _

Without even thinking about it, he threaded his fingers through Eddies' hand, the only part of him that was still unbandaged. He held it, pressing their joined hands to his forehead. “God Eddie I know that you’re the bravest motherfucker I know but did you have to get yourself stuck through? Trying your hardest to save us all? Goddammit, Eddie I just-” A dry sob chokes off his words and he just sits there, pressing their hands together and praying to whatever God might still be out there that he won’t lose him. 

“You know, I think Eddie was always the bravest of us all.” Richie turns and sees Mike leaning against the doorframe smiling softly and shaking his head. “Do you remember when he threw the rock right at Bower's head? God, he was such a fuckin’ spitfire man.” Mike walks up, dragging the other chair. He sits across from Richie and sighs, rubbing his hand on his forehead. “I’m so sorry Rich. I know I had to but I can’t help but feel like this was all my fault.”

Richie was already shaking his head. “Mike man, stop. Look, I won’t lie to you, it was a fucking shit thing, dragging us into all of this. And you’re gonna own me a beer for the rest of your life. But you did the right thing. If we hadn’t killed It, we’d all be dead and so would a bunch of other people.” He grips Mike's shoulder with his free hand, feeling a bottomless pit of guilt open up inside of him. “God Mike,  _ I’m  _ sorry. We all fucking left you here. We got to leave, got to live our lives, and forget about all this shit. But you. Mike, you had to live with all of this shit, for fucking years man. And we should’ve stayed we should’ ve-” 

Mike laughs then. Laughs so loudly and fully that it shocks Richie. He gives Mike a look like he’s lost his mind but Mike just gives him a fond look. “Richie, you guys were my first friends. My only friends. You all gave me a place to belong to. A place where I wasn’t the misfit black kid whose parents died. And you did come back. And It is gone.” Mike looked to the bed, and at Eddie laying in it.

Richie thought of Mike. A true outsider to their group. Not connected by childhood memories or shared classes. Only by the fact he had been a loser himself. And that had been what had brought them together, the way they had all been outcast of the social norms. But Mike had been that last puzzle piece, the one that cemented their group. 

_ “Yeah, Homeschool - welcome to the Losers' Club!” _

Richie looked up suddenly, his eyes alight with worry. “Mike, what about Bowers? Dude, I fucking killed a guy! I am gonna go to jail, I’m gonna be sent to death, I’m-” Mike shook Richies' shoulder, attempting to pull him out of his spiral. But eventually, he decided to let Richie run out of steam. Once Richie had finally calmed down, Mike explained. 

“Richie, Bowers was an escaped patient from a mental hospital. He had already killed two guards and tried to kill Eddie and me. I told them that you saved me and they didn’t press. Plus, this is Derry. They won’t be looking for anything deeper.” 

Richie sighs then, unconsciously running his thumb over Eddie's knuckles. “Yeah, yeah okay. Thanks for that by the way. I know I should've been there but…” He trails off, looking again at the broken man in the hospital bed. “I can’t leave him.” Mike nodded, standing up then and stretching. He leaned down and softly pated Eddie's blanketed leg.

“He’ll be okay Rich. He’s the strongest of all of us.” Mike turns then and walks out the door. 

Richie looks down, and slowly presses his lips to Eddie's fingertips. “I know that you’ll be okay Eddie. I’ll be here for you. Always.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys here is chapter 2! I am writing these with at least the next chapter done, so sorry if the schedule seems off! This one is a bit shorter but after this, the story should pick up. Also, I just wanna say that I love Richie and his gay panic so so much. So please enjoy!

_Arms Tonite- Mother Mother_

Richie began his vigil at Eddie's bedside that night. He would stay there until the nurse kicked him out and would be waiting to re-enter at 9 am sharp. Day in and day out for a week straight he has sat in that same uncomfortable chair, locking his fingers with Eddie’s and waiting. And to their credit, the Losers keep him from going insane with his grief and worry. 

Mike sits on the chair across from him. He brings Richie books to read to Eddie and shows him maps that are marked with every place he’s been wanting to travel for the last 27 years. Once everything here is done he is taking a well-deserved vacation. Richie makes him promise to visit L.A at some point, offering his guest room up to Mike.

Bill is on and off the phone, always walking around and buzzing with energy. It seems as if this experience has inspired him and he is calling the studio in LA to let them know that he is ready to rewrite the end of the movie. He also talks to his wife a lot, and Richie can tell by the tone of those conversations that she wasn’t okay with Bill suddenly leaving and going AWOL for 3 days. He is treated to a resurfacing memory of his Mom having similar calls with his Dad, her voice terse and angry. He does his best to ignore these calls.

Ben brings him food and coffee, making sure he doesn’t waste away. The first day or two it was just burgers and fries, but on the third day, he brings him a salad and forces him to eat every bite. After that, it’s all leafy greens and chicken which Richie has to admit isn’t bad. But he does have to wonder how the hell he managed to find kale in fucking Derry.

Beverly sits by the window, switching between sketching in a book and talking to her lawyer on the phone. During the phone calls, She wears a worried look that makes her look scared and hard. Richie thinks that it’s a good thing that Ben will never have to meet Tom because he is sure he’d make Tom pay for every fading mark left on Beverly's skin, The rest of the time she shows Richie beautiful designs and talks about giving him a “proper makeover”. The idea is horrifying and he has no choice but to agree.

His nights are filled with visions of dying losers, and he wakes up with the screams still burning his throat. The visions of them dying have been burnt into his mind forever and he starts sleeping less and less, spending the night listening to music and thinking about what comes next. Plus, he can always catch quick cat naps sitting beside Eddie’s bed, being lulled into sleep by the beeping machines. He won’t think to himself about how the steady rhythm of Eddies’ breathing helps as well, calming the worst of his nightmares in which Eddie is always dying. 

While he spends time by Eddie's side, he is also kept company by the constant buzzing of his phone and his steadily filling voicemail. He has been dogging calls from his agent and trying to stay off his social media as much as possible but Richie knows what they’re saying. ‘Richie Tozier choked on stage and now he’s hiding while his career burns down’. And he should be doing damage control. Say that he got a bug, that it was a fluke, that he is going to be back as soon as possible. But anytime he thinks about what comes next, he only sees Eddie and that scares him more than he wants to admit. So he lets the calls roll over to voicemail and deletes his social media off of his phone. 

A week into his new schedule, while he is reading a book of poetry to Eddie, Ben comes in, yelling into his phone. Even as kids Richie had hardly seen Ben raise his voice and the man before him is now overwhelmed with rage. “Myra, he is in a _coma_ , don’t you-” He is cut off and even Richie can hear the static-filled yelling from the other side of the line. Ben’s face somehow becomes darker and he speaks in a voice that is full of venom. “Fine. Don’t come to see him. Just fax the fucking paperwork to the hospital and they will deal with you.” Without another word he hangs up, falling heavily into the empty chair and staring out the window. His face is dark red with his rage and he flexes his hand periodically. 

“I am going to assume that was the lovely Mrs. Kaspbrak you were speaking to?” Richie says wryly, laying the book down on Eddie's bed. Ben looks up and nods curtly. Myra had been hounding all of them once she had found out Eddie was in the hospital, going into a cationic state once they told her what had happened. At first, it had been Bev who spoke to her, but those calls had quickly dissolved into Beverly hanging up the phone and cursing under her breath. She had been handed off to Ben then, who was the calmest of them all. But it seemed that today his patience had run out. “What did she want this time? For us to photograph him every hour to prove that he is actually in a coma? Or is there another 500 medications that Eddie takes?”

Ben laughs dryly and rolls his eyes. “She doesn’t want to come to see Eddie. The doctors insist that she come and frankly I agree. She should be by Eddie's side right now. But Myra is too afraid of crashing her car, or whatever plane she takes falling out of the sky. She wanted Eddie to move to a New York hospital but the doctors vetoed that idea right away. He’s way too weak. So she has decided that she will just wait until he is strong enough to move, and then she’ll have him taken care of in New York.” 

Richie shouldn’t feel happy at the fact that Myra wouldn’t be coming, shouldn’t be so possessive at his place by Eddie’s bed. But he is, and the thought shakes him to his core. Because for the first time, he thinks past the now, of what will happen when Eddie wakes up. Eddie has a life somewhere, with his wife and his job and his fancy New York brownstone. Eddie has no reason to even wanna speak to him after the absolute hell that Richie had put him through. The thought of that made his chest constrict and before he can dwell on the ‘why’ he picks up the book of poetry and squeezing Eddies’ hand, begins to read again. 

* * *

_In his mind Richie watches Eddie get into a car and drive from his shared home in New York. The sky is dark with night and storm, rain hitting the windows with a steady soft noise. He sees Eddie walk to the car, Myra chasing after him. Richie shudders as he always does when seeing her. With darker hair and a lot less makeup, she could be Eddie's mom, and from what Richie understands their controlling nature is so similar they could be twins. Eddie isn’t listening to her nasal sobs and cries to come back inside. Instead, he is driving away, driving, and driving as tears stream down his face silently, the wipers clearing the windshield enough so that he can navigate. Richie watches in horror as he makes his way to the Brooklyn Bridge, pulling aside and parking a car. Without a word he climbed out of his car, making his way to the top of a bridge with a grim determination that makes Richie sick. At the top, Eddie sways in the icy wind, looking down into the black depths of the Hudson. He is soaked but doesn’t seem to notice the wetness around him. He whispers something unintelligible and closes his eyes looking truly at peace. Before Richie can scream out to stop him, Eddie jumps._

Richie screams as he sits upright in his bed, his voice sounding tattered and broken in ways too awful to explain. He nearly falls out of his bed and collapses on the worn sheets as sobs broke through his lips and filled the air. He doesn’t know how to live with this, the constant strain of seeing his friend's deaths night after night. Of watching Eddie die. After the tears run dry and his throat becomes raw from crying he leaves his room, in search of fresh air and silence. He desperately wants a cigarette and to be alone with his jumbled thoughts, to forget the horrors now planted in his brain. But when he gets onto the widow's walk, he is surprised to see that it is not empty. 

A sleep-deprived Bill leans heavily against the railing, smoke curling above his head in the light of the full moon. Beside his bare feet is a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. Richie makes his way over and leans against the railing casually. “Well Billiam, I have to say that I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Bill jumped and looked towards Richie, not having heard his approach. When he did, Richie was able to see just how awful his friend looked. His eyes were etched in bruises like shadows and his pallor was pale, almost translucent in the dull light of the moon. His deep brown eyes were still moist from crying and he had fresh tear tracks down his face. Richie’s joke died in his throat and he suddenly frowned, turning to face his friend. Reaching into the pocket of his tattered sweatpants he pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. He lights up and takes a long drag before speaking. “Bill, what the fuck happened man? You look worse than Ben did after Bowers tried to carve him up like a Christmas ham.” His voice is quiet though and the worry in it is plain to read.

Bill smiles in a way that leaves his eyes dead and runs a hand through his hair. “I ah… I think Audra wants to ‘take a break’ as she puts it. We’ve been having issues for a while and e leaving for three days with no contact or real reason hasn’t helped at all. And like. Fuck man.” Bill's voice breaks as his eyes filled with tears. “I guess we’ve been drifting but… shit. She's right you know? Space, actually working on things, that might help. But we don’t have any space. We work together, go home together. We are constantly with one another and I don’t know how the fuck to get better when we’re living like this.” He began crying then, and Richie envelops him in a tight hug. Bill had always been their leader, the strongest, and steadiest in their whole group. But Richie remembered now that his friend was someone who had lost their sibling and childhood and was as warped by this event just like they were. He needed someone to be strong for _him_ right now, and Richie was more than happy to do it.

“Hey now Big Bill, calm down. I know for a fact you can work through this. You’re a goddamn catch and if she doesn't see that she’s as crazy as Eddie's wife by a longshot. Plus, you could have half the women in LA if you wanted, not to mention the hordes of rabid gay men out there who would give there left leg for a taste of your-” Richie’s cut off by a playful shove and Bill’s wet laughter. 

“Beep Beep Richie, Jesus. How the hell do they let you perform like that?” Bill wipes away the tears on his face, but he was laughing so Richie felt his job had been done well. After taking a swig he offered the bottle to Richie. Taking it from his friend, Richie could hear a voice alarmingly similar to Eddie's complaining in the back of his head. “ _Do you know what kind of shit is in people’s backwash Trashmouth?? Ugh, there is so much bacteria and no, the fucking alcohol doesn’t cancel it out you asswipe.”_ Laughing to himself, Richie swallowed a few generous gulps from the bottle. It wasn’t like he’d been planning to go to sleep anyway, and he wasn’t about to unpack his feelings tonight.

“Are you gonna look for a place maybe? It could help for a bit if you each have your own place. And LA can be pretty big.” Richie gave his friend a wondering look, once again marveling that they had somehow lived in the same city for god knows how long. Sure, Richie spent most of his year on tours now but still, it does seem a bit unbelievable. 

Bill looks surprised at the suggestion “That’s actually a good idea Rich.” 

Richie gives his friend a rye smile and takes another drag from his cigarette. “I do have them sometimes.”

Bill nods and looks back out over their sleeping hometown. “Well, I really don’t have another option besides getting an apartment back in L.A because of filming ya know? And hopefully, we can work through this after that? But man, it’s gonna be an absolute bitch trying to find something right now and getting all new shit..” 

As Bill keeps talking Richie suddenly had one of those spurs of the moment ideas that he should really think more about before running with. But he is Richie Tozier, and if there is one thing he doesn’t do it is think through his ideas. So before he really takes the time to consider the ramifications of what he is doing he blurts out “Just stay at my place man.” He sees that he has interrupted Bills talking. His friend looks a bit shocked as if he still can’t understand the words Richie is saying, and Richie is feeling the same way. Uncomfortable with the growing silence, Richie begins talking faster and faster.

“I mean, I wasn’t planning on going back right now anyway, was thinking I would wait around? Almost dying while trying to kill a psychotic alien clown gives you some perspective and hell I deserve a vacation after all this bullshit. And you two can start getting some space, trying that couples therapy bullshit. Although if you ask me, all you guys need is some really kinky-” 

Bill throws his arms around Richie, crushing him in a bear hug so strong that Richie staggers a bit, alcohol sloshing onto the stone beneath them. “Rich, fuck man. Thank you.” Bill pulls back and he smiles so wide that Richie remembers why he followed him through the pits of hell and back. There really is something about Bill Denbrough you just can’t say no to. “I really do think it will help. I do love her man, I do. And I want us to get better. I just think we need a fresh start, and this could be it. Just a few weeks and then I’m out of your hair.” 

Richie smiles too and in his head, he thinks about how he feels a little lighter. He is no longer tied to his lonely and too empty house, forced to breathe in the smog laced air, and fight 20 somethings for parking spaces to buy overpriced coffee. And he won’t have to regurgitate the same offensive garbage on stage three times a week for people he would probably punch if they met him in a bar. The future suddenly looks a lot brighter, and who knows? Maybe he can find some actual meaning to his life now. 

He doesn’t think a certain blue-eyed man who lays 10 miles away in a hospital bed, breathing in rhythm with the machines he’s hooked up to, so peaceful that in Richie’s mind he could be an angel. No, he doesn’t think about that at all. 

* * *

The next day was the first time Richie had found himself actually busy since Eddie arrived in the hospital. After making his way to his spot by Eddie’s bed, he starts by doing the thing that probably scares him the most. Phone pressed to his ear and Eddie's fingers in his, he makes a call to his agent. The dial tone sounds shrill and drawn out in his ear until it is cut off by a voice on the other end of the line. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the prodigal son of comedy. I’m so glad that you’ve decided to bless me with your time Tozier. Tell me, did you enjoy your little vacation while I’ve had to try and salvage the absolute dumpster fire that is your career right now?” Scotty’s voice is full of barely concealed anger and yeah, Richie guesses he deserves that. He did commit career suicide after all. He tries to sound sympathetic even though he couldn’t really give two shits about his job right now. “Yeah no, I’m sorry Scotty. I know I really fucked up. I just got some bad news. A childhood friend decided to up and join the black parade and I had to go back to my hometown immediately. That’s kinda why I choked on stage though, I got the call right before and it fucked me up big time.” As Richie says it, he feels a pang of loss echo through him for Stan. He thinks it might seem strange to miss a friend he hadn’t even remembered knowing a few years ago but Stan had still been a part of his life and in a very big way. 

“Oh well um… I’m sorry to hear that Rich.” He can tell that his sincerity has taken Scotty off guard. His agent was used to Richie being an irresponsible asshole, but for him to be so serious was definitely a new thing. 

“It’s okay Scotty, I definitely deserve the chewing out. I really screwed the pooch on this one and I will totally accept my place as your bitch boy until you feel better. Oh, and I also killed a guy, but he was an escaped serial killer so they aren’t really interested in pressing charges.”

There is a moment before Scotty starts cursing beneath his breath and says “Richie where the fuck are you?”

“Derry, Maine. Look it up.” 

Richie hears the typing of keyboard keys and the clicking of a mouse. Then, after a long moment, Scotty lets out a low whistle. “What the fuck Richie. Did you grow up here? Were you ever gonna mention you spent your childhood with a murderer or?” 

Richie sighs and leans back, slowly rolling his fingers with Eddies and nodding even though Scotty cannot see him. “Yeah, it’s fucking crazy. And one of my friends is in a coma right now. Got attacked by that guy and when we thought someone might be trapped in his old kill hideout, the damn thing collapsed on us. But enough about me. Tell me, how bad is it back there?”

Scotty laughs dryly and lets out a tired sigh. “I won’t mince words with you Rich, you really set a fuckin fire down here. Half the tabloids think you're dead and the other half think you had a breakdown and that I’ve got you locked in a padded room. But I think we can salvage this. Say you took a break due to a personal loss and start you back up on tour. I’ve got Jimmy Fallon on the list for an interview and-”

Before he can finish though, Richie cuts his agent off. He has already made his decision and can only hope that what he says next doesn’t give Scotty an ulcer. “Actually Scotty, I want to cancel the rest of the tour.”

There is a loaded silence on the other end of the line before Scotty replies “You what?” in a strangled voice that has Richie hopping his assistant will hear if the man has a heart attack.

“Yeah, I’m gonna cancel the whole tour. And I want you to fire the writers while you’re at it. I write my own stuff now. I am gonna take a few months to flesh it all out, but I’m done being the asshole of comedy.” Richie tensed as the silence on the phone became so loaded he was surprised the others couldn’t feel it down the hall. Richie had counted to 200 in his head before Scotty spoke. 

“Rich, listen. You’ve been through a tragedy. You’re still not thinking straight and you're obviously stressed. Why don't you just take a few weeks off and we can reschedule the tour. I’ll have a few articles put out, bereavement time, and all that. The writers will-”

“Scotty, stop,” Richie said, letting the friendly tone drop from his voice. He knew that when he wanted to, he could be downright scary, and he tried to summon that side of himself now. “You are going to cancel my tour. You will say that I have suffered a great loss and am taking time to grieve and recoup. And you will fire the writers. I hate the shit they give me anyway. It’s not 2006 and I am not Dane Cook. I will email you an apology given my past content and we will post it on all my social media. Then, after a break, I will do a comeback tour with my own set. All of this, or I walk.” 

There was silence again, and Richie waited for an answer. To be honest he didn’t know if he could get another agent with the way his career is in shambles right now. But he honestly doesn’t care. He is ready to do what he loves the way he loves. After a drawn-out moment, Scotty sighs. Richie can almost see the way he rubs his fingers against temples, as he always does when Richie stresses him out. “Okay, Rich. I’ll take care of it. For the love of god pick up your fucking phone.” 

Richie smiles and laughs. After a few more pleasantries and promises to call later in the week, Richie hangs up the phone. He feels lighter like he is floating on the air. For the last few years, the ‘I hate women and am just an asshole in general’ persona had grown tiring and he hated playing the part more and more. He supposed that he was glad for these events in some tiny way. He looks out the window, thinking about what lays ahead of him.

A small movement in his hand distracts him. He looks down and sees that Eddie's fingers are clenched around his. Not that Richie is squeezing their fingers together, as he often does. No, Eddie is holding Richie’s hand. Richie watches, his heart seeming frozen in his chest. And once again, Eddie presses their fingers together firmly, and his eyes move beneath his closed lids. 

“Eddie?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAA and the boy is awake! I will post Chapter 3 when 4 is finished which should be soonish. I just started classes so I won't be writing as much but this story is something I am still very invested in so don't worry!
> 
> If you want to chat or ask questions, my tumblr is gaymoonfan. I love y'all so much and this story is for you :-)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading y'all. If you wanna follow me I am @oatmilkcowboi on twitter and @gaymoonfan on tumblr. Please feel free to send me messages or ask about the story!


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